First Watch
by burningnostalgia
Summary: Homer's Iliad. Andromache/Helen. "It is not right for a man to place his men above his own wife."


**Title:** First Watch  
**Fandom:** Greek Mythology (specifically the _Iliad_)  
**Pairing:** Andromache/Helen (hints of Helen/Cassandra)  
**Rating:** G  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. And not anyone's, I think.  
**Notes:** I mentioned my muses wanting to write some Andromache/Helen, so here it is. First fic I've churned out in one sitting (not including the short ones). Beta-d by **noverin-ghost**; inspired by Mrs. V's teachings of the _Odyssey_ in English class.

**First Watch**

The evening breeze is much fresher here than back home, salty sea air gently threading through the city from the Aegean. Signal fires from the naval outposts burn brightly in the fading light, the scent of tinder and ashes scattering in the air. Below, the city gates creak and groan as they are pulled tightly shut by the guardsmen, blocking off one of few entrances past the otherwise impregnable walls. Flags upon their turrets flutter in the wind, like the sound of a thousand beating wings, while seagulls cry out the beginning of dusk, their sleek white forms dipping low near the waters.

Footsteps pattering on rough stone pull her eyes away from the horizon. She watches, amused, as Cassandra nimbly maneuvers her way past the slowly thinning group of soldiers lingering atop the city walls, charming a few to easy laughter. The first watch is to begin in about a candlemark, and the soldiers not on guard are idly waiting for the evening bell, hoping to avoid the marketplace crowd when they head home. A few paces to her right are three young archers, repairing damaged arrows under the watchful eye of their captain. Loud shouts are heard from below the ramparts where a group of soldiers engage in a friendly game of dice, two fresh chickens from the market at stake. She shifts her gaze back to Cassandra, smiling as the young girl teases the gruff watchman into helping her up the last few steps. He holds her hand gently, like cradling fine Chinese porcelain, the faint smile on his lips belying his rough outward manner, and gives her a small bow at the top of the steps.

Cassandra settles down beside her, pale arms draped over the rough stone of the wall. They watch the seagulls skim across sea waters in companionable silence until Cassandra softly asks her, "Do you miss it?"

Her words are slow and carefully chosen. "Home? Yes, of course. But I believe this place has… its own brand of charm."

The young girl smiles knowingly. "You don't see the Aegean much from the towers in Sparta, I'm sure. It's very beautiful, so calm and blue. When I'm allowed to leave the city, I go to Apollo's temple by the shore. He speaks to me, sometimes, and tells me what will come to pass." She pauses as the evening bell tolls over the sound of soldiers quickly descending from the walls. The watchman who helped her up the steps takes his post by the archers, his curt nod in her direction a sign of his willingness to serve as their guard for tonight. She turns back to her companion, noting the pensive expression on her face. "Have you seen the rising sun upon Aegean waters?"

She smiles wistfully. "No, I have not. Perhaps tomorrow, we may arise early?"

"Of course. Did you know that in Egypt they have a sun god named Ra? The Egyptian medicine man who came to the palace told me many stories about him." Cassandra's eyes are bright and eager, filled with youthful fire; she is indeed fairest of Priam's daughters. "In Sparta, do you—"

"Cassandra," a voice calls, interrupting the young girl's question. "Come, it is time to prepare for bed."

"Go on, I will be fine," She assures her, smiling, and Cassandra hurries away. She sees Andromache, mighty Hector's wife, appear at the top of the steps with her handmaidens. They converse for a while, Cassandra shaking her head emphatically, before the older woman seems to relent, nodding in her direction.

The moon is bright, almost full in the cloudless sky, stars like bright diamonds upon dark blue silk. She marvels at how quiet it has become, how peacefully the night has fallen. There are no shouts from soldiers drilling in the training square, their movements illuminated by torchlight. There are no sounds of metal hitting metal from the forge, whose blacksmiths toil deep into the night when it is cooler, crafting swords and spearheads in the heat of their furnaces. She hears the rustle of cloth as Andromache moves into the space beside her.

"She insisted I keep you company," comes the low voice, fond amusement in her tone. "Cassandra is quite taken with you."

"Perhaps it is because I come from somewhere far," she replies, still staring out towards the sea. "Her father does not allow her to leave the safety of the palace often, so she is filled with restless energy."

There is silence at first, and she fears her words may have wronged the king, but then smooth fingers grasp at her chin, urging her to turn her head. She shifts against the rough stone to face Andromache. The woman is beautiful, regal in appearance. Her hair is long, brown curls reaching past her shoulders; her skin like burnished bronze, tanned by the sun. "I meant no offense," she says softly, looking into the older woman's dark eyes. They are unreadable in the dimness of the night, despite the fires lighting Troy's walls.

Andromache smiles warmly, fingers moving to cup her cheek. "Do not fear, Helen. I have not taken offense at your words. They are true, after all. Cassandra may be young, but she is not a child anymore. You should see her with the traders—she cannot help her inquisitiveness. One mention of the Amazons had her bouncing in her seat with excitement." She laughs lightly, the sound almost melodic, and her smile grows wider. "Perhaps it would indeed help if she were allowed on her own more often."

Helen sighs, relieved. She knows that many Trojans do not welcome her here, knowing her husband would make war to bring her back, and it would do her no good to anger Trojan royalty. The Spartans are a proud people, and retribution comes swiftly as a Spartan blade. Menelaus will surely come for her, along with the rest of her former suitors, and will not rest until she is back in his arms. The thought calms her slightly, but she also worries for the lives of the Trojans, for Andromache's husband Hector, commander of the Trojan army, who has shown her nothing but kindness during her stay in their home.

"Your husband left this morning with soldiers from his army."

It is Andromache's turn to sigh, dropping her hand from Helen's cheek. She looks out into the dark, remembers her prayers to Artemis for Hector's safety. It is half past the first watch now; the fires burn brighter as the sky grows darker, while the watchman standing guard near the two women is silent and alert. "He is headed for Thrace, to ask help in the war. It is… difficult to be away from him, even for a short while. Astyanax misses his father very much." She turns back to Helen, dark eyes compassionate, and asks, "What of your husband Menelaus?"

Helen averts her eyes, finding interest in a rack of spears by the wall. "He is often away with his men, so I am accustomed to his absence."

Andromache's reply is firm yet wise. "It is not right for a man to place his men above his own wife."

"He loves me."

"Of that, I have no doubt. That he will come for you with the might of Greece's armies, I have no doubt of as well. But he must learn to live as a husband, not only as Sparta's king. Hector did the same for me when I became his wife. He is no longer the sole commander of the army." Andromache reaches for a spear, causing Helen to step back in alarm, staring at the older woman with surprise. The watchman steps closer immediately, but then hesitates for a moment. "He taught me how to use this, some time ago," Andromache continues, testing the spear's heft in her hands. "In Sparta, do they teach women how to fight?"

"Women are told to strengthen their bodies, that they may bear strong sons, but they are not taught how to fight." The watchman retreats back to his post, his caution appeased for the moment. He seems confident that his commander's wife can handle herself. "I can fight, though," she adds." The Spartans did not need to teach me how."

Andromache returns the spear to its rack, smiling apologetically at the watchman. He shakes his head, the expression on his face indulgent. "Then you must show me sometime," she says to Helen, dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "But for now it is late, and we must retire to bed."

She takes Helen's hand into hers and they both move towards the palace, sharing smiles and murmuring low. The watchman gestures to his companion and immediately three soldiers are called out from the garrison to follow the two women. "Keep them safe," he orders them. They nod solemnly and depart, moving quickly, hands on the hilts of their swords. In the distance, a horn is blown, signaling the beginning of the second watch.

-end-

02.02.18


End file.
